


House

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel’s given sanctity and ardor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Tauriel/Galadriel [...] Anything with this ship” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20736255#t20736255).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She sees the Lady of Lothlórien often without any summons at all, something that surprised her the first several times—Thranduil would never move so casually about his kingdom, free of any guards. Galadriel is her own presence. She goes where she chooses, which isn’t odd in itself, but why she would choose to be near so mundane an elf as Tauriel, Tauriel still has no idea. 

When she is finally summoned, several weeks into her stay, she’s pleased for the warning. It gives her time to don her best robes, to brush her hair meticulously and fuss over her braids—preparation she never bothered with at home. The one time she did have someone that merited primping for, there was never such forewarning, and that person was crude and messy anyway. The Lady Galadriel is _beautiful_ , almost devastatingly so, and Tauriel puts in every bit of effort she can to not fade away in comparison. 

Even so, she feels wholly unequipped when she steps onto the talan, large but covered, burrowed into the great tree as though naturally occurring: somehow, Tauriel can imagine Middle Earth wishing to give Galadriel that gift. Grooves between the branches let in the pale evening light. Everything is _lighter_ here, and Galadriel stands out like a star in the middle, shining around all her ledges. 

The Lord isn’t here. There are no attendants, and Tauriel’s breath and footsteps alone pierce the Lady’s silence. She comes before her new queen and bows low, dips right down to the floor to kneel and bend, unsure but compelled to show her reverence. She greets a nearly breathless, “My lady,” but somehow adds, “truly, I thank you for allowing me to stay in your fair realm.”

Tauriel doesn’t lift her face, but Galadriel does it for her. Galadriel lowers slowly into a pool of white fabric, her silver yellow hair cascading down in waves. When she’s seated, she slips her palm against Tauriel’s cheek, and Tauriel’s skin seems to glow with it, her heart beating faster in her chest. 

Galadriel’s fingers slide elegantly beneath Tauriel’s chin, curl there and tilt it up, bringing their eyes together, nervousness in Tauriel’s body but only kindness in Galadriel’s eyes. She tells Tauriel, in her deep voice, soft as song, “I have sent word to Thranduil. He has forgiven you, though I have shown him that there is no sin to forgive. You are free to return.”

Tauriel’s heart clenches. She can hardly believe it, and she’s sure her eyes are wide. She can’t imagine Galadriel taking such an interest in her to invest in her plight. They’ve spoken several times since her coming, always sweet and closer than Tauriel expects, but Tauriel is still far beneath Galadriel in so many ways. And she distances herself. She knows that the Lady can see through her to some extent, and she can’t explain her foolish fantasies, her silly desires. It shames her that she has difficulty looking at Galadriel, even now, and more difficulty distinguishing idle worship from a burning _want_ that she can never have. It’s entirely inappropriate. She turns her eyes away, though she can’t bring herself to break free of Galadriel’s touch. She isn’t sure she _wants_ to go back. 

She sucks in a breath. Galadriel murmurs, like reading her thoughts, “You are free to stay, if you wish.”

Tauriel runs her tongue across her lips before she can think to withdraw it. Slow, and steady, she thinks, or rather weighs out her feelings, before finally admitting, “I... I would very much like to stay, my lady, but... I fear it may be too... painful.” She feels lured to the truth but says no more and hopes Galadriel doesn’t ask. Galadriel wears a small, knowing smile. 

Galadriel tilts forward, and it only takes that little bit to brush their lips together. Tauriel loses her breath, gasping with wide eyes. Galadriel is already retracting. It was only feather-light, barely there, and Tauriel would’ve thought she imagined it, if her lips didn’t still tingle, warm and a little wet, where they touched. 

“We are more open here than the Greenwood,” Galadriel purrs, with her eyes hooded and spine arched towards Tauriel, intimate and private, like Tauriel is _special_. She’s never been treated as though she were unworthy here, though she still knows it, still _feels_ it. Galadriel’s hand strays from Tauriel’s chin to gently pet her cheek, and Tauriel leans into the touch with a shudder of _ecstasy_. “You are very young,” Galadriel tells her in a siren’s melody, “but you are old enough to make your choice for the time being. And you may be comforted now knowing that you may return home whenever you should wish.”

Tauriel lifts her own hand over Galadriel’s and dares to hold it, only because Galadriel’s handsome smile encourages her. Her own skin feels rough and calloused compared to Galadriel’s silken body, and it sends another shiver down Tauriel’s spine. She should’ve known that Galadriel would see all her desires, but she never would’ve presumed for this splendor to come of it. 

It takes her a moment to manage the words, and even then, they’re a whisper: “I dearly wish for this to be my home.” 

Galadriel’s smile grows wide across her face. It’s radiant, and in that one moment, Tauriel understands the urge she’s always had to travel, to seek, to see the stars, and thinks she might’ve found them all in this one queen. She parts her lips to say so, but Galadriel is moving closer again, so Tauriel merely closes her eyes. Galadriel’s velvet-soft lips brush across her own, and they open, a smooth tongue slipping languidly inside. Tauriel can’t hold back her _moan_ , and she nearly falls to pieces as Galadriel kisses her, deep and long. 

She doesn’t know how long it lasts, but every second is precious to her. It’s a wordless, luxurious taste of sheer bliss, tender and curious and strange, scented like flowers and sounding of sin: quick, wondrous breaths swallowed up in another’s mouth. It makes her feel delightfully young and dizzily happy. When they do part, Tauriel keens, though Galadriel places a finger across her lips to still her. 

“Do you wish to celebrate this decision?” Galadriel asks, somehow both casually proper and joyously lewd. Galadriel is all things, all done to their best, and Tauriel trembles from the mere sight of her, her touch, the lingering taste of her tongue and the ripe smell of her. Tauriel’s humbled by the chance to learn from such a creature, and she nods, unable to articulate how newly fragile and _perfect_ she feels.

Galadriel draws her gently up, until they’re both standing, Galadriel’s hands on her arms and her knees threatening to buckle. Galadriel guides her across the talan to the stairs that twist ever higher, and Tauriel follows to meet the sky.


End file.
